Night
by ProjectManhattan
Summary: Major Case gets in too deep, and Goren gets a visitor whose intentions are anything but friendly. M for some language.


A noise. A muffled clicking at the door. Someone trying to get in.

A creak, a swing inward, a soft shut back. Someone who knew what they were doing _getting_ in. Something bad was happening.

Bobby had to make a decision. Pretend to be asleep? Yell? Turn the light on? Call emergency services? Get his gun from the nightstand?

Get the gun. Bobby got his gun. He'd been asleep before hearing the man get in, his eyes were adjusted to the dark. Turning the light on would be a waste of time and a giveaway, as would be calling 911.

He debated on his further course of action. Was it a burglar? They were quiet. They somehow hadn't set off the alarm. Yet no professional thief would bother with his place. Even then a seasoned thief would've known Bobby was home and would've chosen a night where the place was empty. Some crack head looking for a TV to steal wouldn't have been so careful, so quiet.

Whoever it was locked the door behind them.

Not a burglar. Not a good thing. This was bad.

Goren wondered if the phone lines were cut. Maybe a gun in the dark wouldn't be enough. Bobby picked up the phone. It _was_ dead. His cell phone was on the kitchen counter. Damn. This was very, very bad. This guy was a professional, yes. But not a burglar.

The professional was making his way through the house. Goren had to strain to hear his footsteps.

The present case. They were getting so close. Too close. They'd taken on political corruption plenty of times before, but never this high up. He'd gotten threats in the past, but no one had acted on them at this level. Maybe he wasn't going to get away with it this time.

If it wasn't for that, there were plenty of people who loathed Goren, people who hated every individual on Major Case. He'd put hundreds of people away. People sought revenge and retribution on objective judges, why not kill an imposing detective who abused and manipulated all suspects to the point of hysteria?

Either way, Robert Goren was about to be shot in his bed for years of painful work as a servant of the state. Figures.

Wait. Every individual on Major Case. Eames! He had a partner. They'd kill them both. No, not Eames.

They'd take them both out at the same time. Shit. She might've been killed first. No, no. Not after what she'd been through, she was a survivor, they couldn't-

The handle on the door to Goren's bedroom turned.

Don't think about it that way. She's fine. She'll be fine. This guy here, he'll be stopped. Goren sat up. A decision needed to be made. He needed to quit debating.

The door opened, creaking; it stopped. A pause. An opportunity? Goren smelled something, something like oil, and heard very light slick sounds. The man was greasing the hinges! Yes, an opportunity. Time to blow this bastard away. You can never truly cover all of your bases; no matter how well-prepared this guy was, he didn't count on Goren being a tremendously light sleeper. He couldn't help but be a little proud; all of these precautions. Seems Goren was an intimidating guy, even for a hit man.

Goren lowered his legs from the bed, as careful as he could be with his size and the large amount of springs under him ready as they could be to make noise and alert the killer. Both feet on the floor, he raised himself off, as slowly as his one chance would allow. No noise. Good. He raised the gun and faced the door. He hoped that he wouldn't die in his boxers.

Quiet. Have to stay quiet. A shot in the dark, if you will, would be a waste from far away. The person on the other side of the door, open only about four inches, could be packing anything. Stay quiet, get up close, blow him away. Bobby's hands were shaking and sweating. He hoped he could keep his hold on the gun.

Less sounds now. Hurry. Stay quiet, keep the gun raised, and hurry the hell up. He remembered where all of the creaky floorboards were, and he avoided them. Or he thought he remembered. The creak was like an explosion in the silent house. Or at least it felt that way to Bobby. Looks like today was an unlucky day. He heard the killer stop and stand up.

_Killed by a fucking floorboard._

He was blown. Bobby fired twice (hopefully hitting some vitals at least, if only for the satisfaction). Then he paused, waiting for the end. Nothing. Not so much as a scream, and no return fire. He turned the light on and shielded his eyes, then slammed the door (now with two very clear bullet holes in it) open. Nobody there. Nothing but blood on the ground.

Blood on the ground, and nobody. Yet the door was still locked. Dammit! The trail of red lead toward the left, away from the kitchen. He raised his gun again, deciding to go for his cell phone. The guy might have backup, and two loud shots in what was obviously supposed to be a quick, quiet job would alert anyone. As if the night hadn't gone badly enough so far.

Goren smiled, though he was as on edge as ever. Even if the killer won, with that amount of blood staining Goren's carpet, he'd be out of commission for a while. Maybe soon. He knew nothing of the man's size or health, but even if the guy was a gorilla he had ten minutes tops before passing out due to blood loss.

Goren made his way through the hall, turned, and made it into the kitchen. He'd stormed plenty of homes before looking for killers, but he'd never done this in the room where he'd prepared himself breakfast, or near where he watched the news, or where he sat and read nearly every night...

Goren picked up his cell phone, dialing 911 immediately. He began to explain to the operator just what his emergency was. Then something odd. From the kitchen counter, Goren could see where the trail ended. It ended? Something was off.

"Drop it."

A shaky, raspy voice. Something cold on the back of his head. Metal. _Damn._

He dropped it. Like something out of the movies. He regretted it almost instantly. He should've turned around and fought, it's not as if he had a chance either way...

"The phone, too."

He dropped the phone, leaving the female operator hanging.

"Hands up."

Hands up. It was over.

"Against the wall."

An execution. This guy was going to finish the job.

Before he moved, Bobby felt the gun shaking against his neck. He thought about trying to negotiate, trying to manipulate, but he figured he'd bide his time another way. Maybe, hopefully...

Goren moved up to his kitchen wall as slowly as he could, then let his head rest against the wall between a calendar and a clock. He'd never seen the wallpaper this closely before. It smelled, and it was ugly. One day he'd replace it. Ha. What a thing to think of.

How sad. He wasn't even going to see the face of the man that killed him.

Here it comes. Probably going to be a murder-suicide, the guy seemed to be wounded so badly. Someone like that couldn't run from the cops, and wouldn't let himself live and give himself a chance to give away his employer.

He waited. Agonizing.

Well, really, it was good that he'd gotten his gun and fired. Good that he'd woken up. This way, it'd be painless. Dead in an instant. If he'd been caught alive, disabled, who knows what kind of message they'd have tried to send to people like him. How long it could've lasted in his dark, quiet bedroom.

Man. Dying in your fucking _boxers._

A thud. Goren blinked. He swiveled around. The man was on the floor, gun (top model and equipped with a silencer, of course) out of reach. Blood loss.

Damn. Carefully, avoiding the man, Bobby walked over and picked up his phone and gun. The woman on the other end had overheard the killer and was near panicking, but had remained on the line.

Yet again, he'd almost died. So close. He wanted to break down with relief, but felt more like laughing.

He looked at the man on the ground, then at the gun now held loosely in his hand. One shot. It'd be easy to say it was in self-defense. After a moment, he decided against it. It'd be much more fulfilling to get this fucker back in the interrogation room.

Pounding on the door. They'd knock it down in about five seconds, give or take. The NYPD. Bobby hoped that Eames was one of them.


End file.
